May 16, 2010

At first, I was unsure if I should address this letter to you or Ms. Pachyderm, or perhaps both. But ultimately I decided that you are the one that I seem to chat with a little more when I see you on the way to the parking lot or returning to the apartment with your groceries, so you may be the one I can reason with a bit better. Actually, I don't think that you and your significant other are technically Mr. and Ms. Pachyderm in the matrimonial sense, but you are a cohabitating boyfriend/girlfriend pair at the very least.

I admit that neither Dean or I were happy to see you guys move in. The apartment above us was empty the first two months we lived here, and it was really nice. We enjoyed not having to worry about bothering any upstairs neighbors with music or noise (especially helpful that first week we were here, when we were turning on the rather loud pump to re-fill the air-losing air mattress numerous times throughout the night, as we kept waking up on the floor). But when you and Ms. Pachyderm moved in, you seemed friendly and chatty. All was good.

If life was a novel, we would have been treated to a little literary foreshadowing on your moving day, as that is the first time I heard you guys fighting on the front steps. Of all the little comments of the day, what sticks out is that you continually said "We can't afford all of this". But I thought...well, I actually didn't think too much about it at all, having lots of things of my own to think about at the time. Moving is stressful and brings out the worst in many. A little bickering on moving day is pretty normal, in my opinion.

It was a few days after that we nicknamed you "the pachyderms". Like elephants, hippos and rhinos, you both sound like large creatures thundering across the floor when you walk through your living room, and it seems a miracle that you haven't ended up falling through our ceiling and landing on our sofa yet. You seemed to enjoy a honeymoon period of cohabitating bliss at first because it took a few weeks for the fighting to begin. But begin it did, and in earnest. Money mostly, some division of household labor thrown in. Honestly, I was more annoyed than interested. Yes, you guys are out of money. Perhaps you shouldn't have bought that fancy surround sound system or ordered that pizza last night.

But then, the loudest and clearest fight to date. Ms. Pachyderm yelling and crying "I swear I didn't take anything", then you running out of the apartment, slamming the door on the way out. I began to wonder: what did she take (or not take, according to her)? Money or some material thing from the apartment? Or is it drugs she swears she did not touch? I often see her wearing scrubs, and wonder what she does for a living. Does her job or schooling give her easy drug access? Suddenly, an elaborate scene began to play out in my mind.

You guys must have smoothed things over, because we were blessed with another period of quiet. Well, quiet relative to the fighting. Your surround-sound system would be classified as anything but quiet, and the explosion-heavy action movies with the wall-shaking special effects seem to be your preferred cinematic genre, upping the noise level considerably when compared to, say, a romantic comedy. Between the blast-em up thrillers, your footsteps and the fact that you guys seem to always communicate in elevated tones, the indoor vs. outdoor voice concept apparently lost on you, we won't be seeing true quiet unless y'all head out for vacation.

I do have a confession, and it is a bit of a shameful one. When I hear you begin to fight, I stop, be quiet and listen. I am an eavesdropping maniac at the first raised voice, when muffled words become discernible. As someone who tries to minimize drama in her own life, I am somehow letting myself get caught up in the soap opera plot playing out one floor above me. This is terrible trait and I promise I'll do better to ignore the goings-on from here on in. I need to remind myself that, although it may seem like a reality television episode that I'm hearing, it is your real life. It must be frustrating and hard to be in a situation where you are hurling and being hit by such unkind words from one that you supposedly love.

Last Friday was the very first time that I felt truly startled by what I heard. You were obviously locked out of the apartment, standing in the hall banging on the door, yelling "Let me in, this is my house too, I'll call the police if I need to". I could heard an upset Ms. Pachyderm from the other side of the door, then you "I don't want anything to do with you, I just want my stuff". Lots of time passed, with you knocking, yelling, banging on the door, but it seems that you were finally let in. A couple of minutes later, I hear one big "bang" from upstairs, then...silence. I admit I was worried. What happened? Should I knock on the door, call police? Ultimately I heard you both upstairs, no more raised voices. Now, it seems as if you are back - both cars are in the apartment lot. Same old stuff to come, I'm guessing.

But take some advice from the sweet gal who lives in the apartment below you. You both are so very young right now, and have your whole lives ahead of you. Maybe you guys are not meant to be, and it is time to part ways. Or perhaps try some couples therapy to help you learn how to talk things out without the yelling, screaming and crying you currently rely on. Marriage is not easy, and one key to a good one is the ability to communicate with your partner like two rational adults (or have the sense to walk away and return when you feel calm enough to tuck back inside the screaming banshee of a child and speak in a more effective manner). Life is full of enough unavoidable drama, home should be a place where all that drama can be set aside.

Please consider this for, as much as your fighting is an annoying background buzz that results in me having to turn up the television, the hurtful words are what you are both using to pave the path to the rest of your lives. And a rocky one it will continue to be if you don't move past these childish ways.

With hope that you guys can either work it out or move on,

the sweet gal who lives downstairs from you

P.S. May I ask what you guys are using all that water for? It seems like, between the kitchen and bathroom pipe noises, you have the water on oh, 5 or 6 hours some days. What can that possibly be for?

May 15, 2010

Can I call you friends? I guess I feel a little like we are kindred spirits of sorts. You see, I have been there. In fact, I am there right now, in some ways. I understand the feeling of seeing new babies and expectant baby bellies everywhere when all you want is one of your own, forcing a smile and merriment as you hear of yet another pregnancy in your circle of friends, wandering through the baby department to pick out a shower gift, every aisle filled with miniature pink and blue items, all pointing out what you don't have.

I tell people that I've been trying to become a mama for 5 years, but I feel like I've been saying that for a while. If I was inclined to sit and do the calculations, I think much more time has passed since we "started trying" (which is quite different from when you "stop preventing", as anyone who has struggled to conceive knows). Perhaps I'm not willing to move the clock past the 5-year mark, as saying "5 years" sounds much better to me than "7 years" or "8 years". It feels like the more time passes, the less hope there is. So I've been sticking to the 5 year mark so far.

And during those years, there have been lots of temperatures and charts and timing everything just right, but no baby. I was referred to a fertility specialist in Newfoundland and, after a year of waiting, finally got in to see her. I really liked Dr. O'Grady; she was no nonsense, which I appreciated. No beating around any bushes in her office, she told it like it was. After ruling out any obvious causes, the tests started. Unfortunately, the summer schedule of the physicians and hospitals resulted in a whole lot of "hurry up and wait", and it was fall before everything was completed. Dean and I both endured some pretty embarrassing medical procedures in the name of being deemed alright, but we both were. In a way, it was relieving to know that everything was normal, but a secret part of me felt disappointed. How much easier would it have been to be told "oh, you just need to take "xy medication" and all will be well" ? The diagnosis of "unexplained infertility" was perhaps the most frustrating label to be given.

Then very unexpectedly, before I returned for a follow-up appointment with Dr. O'Grady, I became pregnant on my own over the holidays. Well, my husband played a part in it, of course. As I'm sure you know by "on my own", I mean without medical intervention. The funny part was that we had given up on the charts and the temps and the timing, knowing we were returning to begin fertility treatments in the new year. When I saw that positive pregnancy test, I was in shock. Total shock. At that point in my life, I had peed on so many sticks and had only ever gotten that single "not-pregnant" line, I wondered if the second "you're pregnant" line was a result of some sort of weird double-vision causing disease that had come over me suddenly. After the initial shock wore off, we were so very excited.

Unfortunately, it was not meant to be. At the first ultrasound, the baby was measuring smaller than expected. The following week, the baby had shown no growth and the heartbeat had slowed. I was told I had a "non-viable pregnancy", and was scheduled to see Dr. O'Grady the following week to review my "options". Before the appointment came, I miscarried the baby naturally, on Valentine's Day.

I appeared to be doing alright, and most people thought that I was dealing with things well, including me. Of course I was sad and disappointed. After so very long trying to conceive, from just a few moments after I found out that I was pregnant, I practically had this little peanut's life planned out. But I was trying to focus on the positive - I may not have successfully carried the baby to term, but I did manage to get pregnant - and move forward.

The following January, Dean and I made a move away from Newfoundland, when his employer offered to send him back to school to do his masters at Rutgers University. It's only when we arrived in New Jersey and I could look back at the last couple of years did I gain some perspective and realize that I was not dealing well at all. Instead, I think I was going through the motions of life, but in actuality was close to falling apart completely. After all, Dean and I left a life we loved in New Orleans to return home to Newfoundland and start a family, something we were trying hard to to do, but failing miserably at.

I can see now that having a baby was the entire focus of my life. Every decision made, from what house plan to eventually build on our land to choices in the direction of my career, was made with the assumption that there was a wee one just around the next corner, waiting for us to be it's parents. The term "motherless child" is a common one. Well, in every aspect of my life, I was acting like a "childless mother". I had no idea who I was without that baby around the corner. It's a scary feeling to realize that your entire self is built around the uncertainty of potential parenthood and its wispy, fragile hope. The expectation of conception was filled with all that pressure.

I needed to let go of "baby" as a singular focus and, first, imagine a path for Dean and I without children. In my mind's eye, I had to be able to see what life would be like if our family consisted of just the two of us, with the occasional furry family member thrown in for good measure. Certainly, our life will be different if we never succeed in expanding our family, but no less worthwhile. I am lucky to be married to a wonderful man and together we can share so much. We can still make a meaningful contribution to this world without being parents.

When the focus was entirely on getting pregnant, especially when it seemed like every other woman of childbearing age on earth was reproducing with ease, I was so discouraged. I was failing at the main goal I had in life, and subsequently felt like a total failure at just about everything else, when I had the energy to engage in anything else, that is.

So please take this advice from someone who has been there: you are more than a potential mother. Perhaps you are a wife, a daughter, a sister. Maybe you have a successful career, are a spirited athlete, a talented artist, an avid gardener with a green thumb. Take some time and energy to focus on these other aspects of yourself. Value yourself for all the things you contribute to your family, others around you, the world at large. Don't lose yourself and your very important place here on earth on the sometimes difficult, rocky path to parenthood, with it's unexpected twists and turns.

Looking back, I can see how I was drowning under the weight of the pressure I was putting on myself. Now I feel like a brick has been lifted off my chest, and I can breath again. When I look at a new baby or hear of a new pregnancy today, there may be a moment of sadness or a brief "why not me?", but mostly I am alright. I can feel joy in the birth of a brand new little person instead of an overwhelming sadness, a longing, a void. For this I am glad, as I love children, and don't want to grow into someone whose bitterness and resentment for what I do not have prevent me from enjoying them now and later in life.

Of course, what has not changed for me is that I still want to be a mama more than anything. With 35 just around the corner, I know time is shorter than it was 5 years ago. Right now, we have taken a break from officially "trying", instead letting the chips fall where they may. So far, they haven't fallen in favor of a pregnancy. But whether a baby is something we eventually conceive on our own or with the help of medical intervention, whether we choose alternate methods of adding a child to our family, such as adoption, or whether we remain forever a family of two, I have vowed to celebrate who I am right now everyday - a wife, daughter and grand-daughter, friend, student, therapist, artist of sorts, amateur photographer, knitter, dog owner. I think this will help me be a better mama if the day finally comes when we get our wish and we are blessed to become parents. But if we don't, it will be as equally an important approach in preventing my life from passing me by while I am busy ignoring all else, laying in wait for a child that may never be.

So please, recognize that life is short. It's alright to have hope, make plans, dream of the day when you will be blessed with a little one of your own. But don't let those hopes, plans and dreams of the future overshadow what you have to be grateful for today.

With hope that you find peace,

Tanya

P.S. May I give you another piece pf advice? Resist buying up pregnancy tests to have on hand "just in case". It's my experience that, if one is there, you will take it at a moment's notice for just about any reason. Not only does one negative test after another get discouraging, those darned things are expensive. I have made someone at the makers of "First Response" pregnancy tests a bundle. Wait until you really, really need it before you run out and buy one.

May 13, 2010

I purchased you at Sports Authority's end of season sale just a few months ago. I think that you may be last year's Burton "Secret" model, or maybe even the year's before. But that doesn't matter one bit to me. When it comes to snowboards, I'm not picky. I've been told by a few people with knowledge of the sport and it's equipment that you are quite nice. You do have a cute pink and white pattern, and Dean made sure you fit me properly before we bought you. That's good enough for me. You could say that we've bonded during our few times on the hill this past season, I think. We're starting to build a relationship of sorts.

If someone told me six months ago that I would be purchasing you, I would have called them crazy at best (or had them committed at worst). Dean has been a snowboarding fool for well over 10 years now, and it had never been something that I was interested in. But when we were looking for a place to go to escape our furniture-bare New Jersey apartment while waiting for the movers to arrive, Dean found out there was a mountain (and corresponding resort) just a couple of hours away, so we were off.

When in Rome, as they say, so I took a lesson on our first day out. I rented a snowboard (although it wasn't half as good as you are) and got a few tips from the sweet young girl who was the instructor of our group. And you know, I didn't do too badly, definitely not the worst of the bunch. "You just need to build your confidence" was my instructor's advice. That evening, Dean and I were sitting in a bar on the resort, having a drink and some snacks and enjoying each others company at the start of so many changes. Sitting there in my snow pants with my feet up, I was surrounded by a snowboarding culture that made me feel much cooler than my 30-odd year old self actually is. One of the staff got up and did a karaoke version of the Talking Head's "Psycho Killer", which we had heard a lot since we had been playing Rock Band on the PS3 during our drive, and it cracked me up. I have the song on my ipod now, and every time I hear it, it still makes me chuckle.

Let me let you in on something - riding you down a hill is not an easy feat, no matter how mush of a breeze those Olympians make it look. Well, the I guess it is not the actual boarding that gets a body as much as the falling. The morning following that first day, I was stiff as a board and black and blue from head to toe. But no broken bones or serious injuries, and some progress on the slopes. It was a start, and something to build on in the coming weeks, when we would drive to one of the two closer mountains for a day trip for Dean to board and me to "practice". After a couple of rentals, Dean and I decided that it was time for me to have my very own board. That's when you arrived on the scene.

But oh my, those first few times were hard, and not just in a "stiff and sore" kind of way. My breathing was just awful, I was huffing and puffing and exhausted from the little bit of activity that it took me to carry you to the hill and strap you on, especially when wearing all that warm winter clothing that had me looking like the stay puff marshmallow man. I was just mentally coming out on the other side of a really hard couple of years, which were filled with poor food choices and inactivity (and the weight gain that follows such bad habits), but you highlighted just how bad my respiratory system had gotten.

You really opened my eyes to the poor state of my own health, which is such a gift to me now. It was there on the hill that I knew I needed to make becoming fit (or fitter, I guess) a priority, that I decided that I could no longer use my diagnosis of sarcoidosis and the resulting partially collapsed lung as an excuse for my poor breathing. Perhaps it would require a little more work and some extra caution, but I needed to improve. If I was going to learn to ride you down the hill with any measure of skill or grace, I needed to develop better core strength, better lungs, a healthier weight. So I started off with baby steps - the elliptical machine at the gym, smarter food choices. You were my motivation to begin.

After that last trip to Mountain Creek in early March with our visitors, you were put away for the spring and summer. But I've been working hard and continuing to make lots of positive changes since then. Now I'm hitting the gym for cardiovascular work, bike riding, swimming, yoga. I recently started strength training with Dean, (who has been making some wonderful lifestyle changes himself) including the dreaded medicine ball circuit that he has us do. And boy am I feeling better: breathing better, less aches and pains, more energy, sleeping better. I've even lost a couple of pounds (though I still have a long way to go in that department). I'm feeling more like myself than I have in ages. Now when I walk the dog on the same route as always, I am dragging him along. This is no mean feat, as the poor pooch is 10+ years old, but it makes me feel good to get up the few hills in the neighborhood with a nice, even breath.

From the time I was just a wee bitty thing, I've always been known as "the smart one" or "the bookworm", and never felt physical activity was something I was remotely good at. In fact, I'm known as more of a clumsy, physically graceless sort. I had convinced myself that I was just not the athletic type. Now, I know that I wouldn't win any races and I won't be trying out for any Olympic teams for the 2014 games. But these days, when a physical challenge is in front of me - whether it be swimming a lap at the pool or holding a yoga pose - or even just as I am going about my day, I feel strong and capable. Most importantly, I have begun seeing a respirologist who believes that my lung capacity is good enough to begin weaning off the steroids I have been taking for the last 5 years. What an accomplishment it would be for me to be medication free.

And when I have those occasional unmotivated days when I'd like to hang on the sofa in my pj's, eat pizza and chocolate and watch Tivo'ed episodes of "24", I think of you sitting cozily in the storage locker, patiently awaiting next season. I picture myself riding you down the hill breathing easy, with the core strength and balance to make it look, if not easy, at least not a terrible struggle. Perhaps with a wee bit of grace. Then I get up and go for a walk or a swim.

So thank-you little snowboard. You were that first push I needed to move forward towards a healthier lifestyle, and you continue to motivate me still.

Gratefully,

Tanya

P.S. Do you think that if you notice us zooming out of control towards a sharp downward slope which leads to the chair lift operation shack next year, you could steer us away from it? Because when we fell down that hole and hit the shack last year, it was quite embarrassing.

May 11, 2010

How are you doing little guy? Are you adjusting well to being the newest member of the Murphy clan? You're already 2 1/2 weeks old! Time passes much too quickly. I could not have been more honored or excited last week, when your mama asked me to be your God-mother. I'm sad to have to miss your Christening, coming this Sunday, but hope you enjoy all the attention you're sure to receive on your special day.

First, let me tell you a bit about me and your mom: we go back. Way back. In fact, I was reading greeting cards just yesterday (while waiting for my car to be washed; standing around reading greeting cards is not something your God-mama does to pass time or anything) and came across one that read "Some friends stick together...but I think we may be crazy glued". That is your mama and I, crazy glued. And maybe a little bit crazy, too.

Boy, we spent hours and hours together back in the day doing...what? Well, talking mostly. Which we can still do, by the way. In fact, when you were still in your mama's belly, there were a good many nights when your mom and I stayed up way too late chatting over tea. I remember our walks around Old Bay Bulls Road for "exercise" (when we stopped at the Red Circle for Starburst and sour candy snacks to munch on while on our route), practicing walking down your Nanny Murphy's front steps in our high heels in preparation for high school graduation, sitting on our "locker pillows" between classes during our first year of university. Your mom and I have shared countless good times, tears, secrets.

Your mom has always had the corniest sense of humor, and I can still count on the captions she writes under her photos to crack me up (must have been all that practice she gained from our co-editing of the yearbook). She fills in my (numerous) memory gaps, without her I don't think I'd recall half my life. Sadly, grown-ups don't always keep in touch like they should. But she is the friend who, no matter how much time has passed, I can call and feel like I'm continuing yesterday's conversation with. When she asked me to be your God-mama, she told me I was her oldest and dearest girlfriend, which made me tear up immediately. She is my oldest and dearest girlfriend too. I hope that you'll know friendship like your mama and I have in your lifetime.

Way back when, your mama and I had some very similar plans. I was thinking of either medicine or possibly education, and she was planning on becoming a lawyer (though math was always her strength). More than 15 years later, our lives could not have turned out more different - me married with no kids, moving from one place to another in a bit of a "traveling fraggle" lifestyle; she, also married, living back home with four beautiful children.

Yes, you are your mama's fourth child, a fact that has earned her a good number of shocked looks and raised eyebrows as of late. A couple of years back, she came and picked me up in her minivan for a night on the town, and it was so very odd to see her drive such a vehicle. Luckily she and daddy decided on that purchase, because the Murphy family wouldn't all fit in one car for outings. On the telephone recently, I heard Jarod refuse to take his asthma medication, Spense throw up because he ate too much pizza and chocolate milk, and Sydney almost tip you out of the carrier, which mom had placed you in to sleep. I felt overwhelmed just listening to all the goings-on. But your mom is an amazing woman and a wonderful mother. You are surrounded by love from she, your dad, your siblings and a circle of extended family and friends. You are a lucky little guy.

I want you to know that I take the role of being your God-mama seriously. I find the title a bit intimidating - after all, though I have been doing a lot of thinking about my spirituality as of late, I am by no means a religious person. Yet a God-parent's role is so much more than that, I think.

Of course, traditionally one aspect of the role was to be the one who would raise you if anything happened to your mom and dad. Though I'm not certain mom or dad would trust Dean and I with such responsibility (after all, what do we know about raising a child?), you know if mom decided four is just too many and wanted to drop back down to a more manageable three, we'd take you in a heartbeat.

As your God-mama, I vow to expose you to things you may not otherwise get to see or do as one of four kids, celebrate your life's big and little events, be the one to get you that really cool (fill in what is cool and hard to get depending on age) when it seems impossible to find, encourage your crazy dreams, and help you grow into the very best person that you can. I hope I can foster a special relationship with you, whether we live next door or a world away from one another. Being the youngest of four, it's inevitable that there will be times you feel a little lost in the shuffle. I hope that I can make you feel as special as you are and help you believe you can do anything you put your mind to.

I have a wonderful God-mother of my own - my dad's sister, my Aunt Mickey. When I was fairly young, she moved from Newfoundland to the big city of Toronto. Her life seemed so exciting! The first time I was on a plane alone was when I went to visit her, which I did for few summers in a row during my high school years.Those visits were so much fun. Mickey treated me like an adult though, looking back, I was anything but. During our late-night chats, my self esteem blossomed, she made me feel like I could do anything. She was one of the reasons I succeeded in college and continue to do so today.

I'm sad that I cannot be there for your Christening this weekend, but your mama very sweetly asked if my mother would like to stand in for me at the church. Of course she agreed, and it looks like you may be getting a two-for-one deal with us - my mom would love a grandchild, and already the term "God-grandmother" has been thrown around.

By the time I get to meet you, you'll already be two months old! You'll have already left that brand new baby look behind, but I hope you'll still have that sweet baby smell. I hope that I turn out to be the best God-mama you could ever want. I can't wait to meet you little guy!

Love,

your God-mama

P.S. I don't know if I'll still have the Audi TT convertible when you graduate from high school. But if mom and dad are still driving a minivan and Dean and I have something cooler, I'll make sure it's available for your high school graduation. Don't worry, no God-son of mine is driving his date to the prom in a mini-van.

You and I will be meeting soon. Very soon. How sneaky of you to have quietly crept up on me, unnoticed while I was busy moving and adjusting to a new home. Perhaps you have been occasionally revealing yourself to me as of late, peeking around corners, appearing right before my eyes, only to jump back into the shadows before I could be sure of what I saw.

Thinking back, I may have caught a glimpse of you on a chairlift at Mountain Creek, when every muscle ached after my first snowboarding attempt; and you may have been the one in the funny hat riding in the back of the Rutgers bus the night Dean and I looked at the young, drunk student vomiting before his stop and I thought "I could technically be his mama, biologically speaking".

One way that dear Elizabeth measures the proximity of life events is by determining if they will occur before the expiration date printed on the orange juice carton in her fridge passes. Well, I am turning 35 before our milk expires. And I don't need to tell you that milk goes bad much quicker than orange juice.

Of course, the jury is still out on whether you have ownership of "age 35 years". I always thought that you were not awarded any sort of rights until age 40 was achieved. However, I was corrected during an exchange with Dean a couple of weeks ago, when I (jokingly) commented that the sun visor I was wearing made me look like a middle-aged woman heading off to a golf or tennis game. His reply? "Well, you are close to middle-aged." What? I had no idea! His logic was that if you live until 70, 35 is smack dab in the middle, therefore middle-aged. Personally, I am hoping to live longer than 70 years, but I understand his reasoning. And for the record, I was not heading off to play golf nor tennis. Actually, I think I may have been heading to the library. Which may make me a nerd. A middle-aged nerd. Indeed.

I have to confess that my life is nothing like I thought it would be upon your arrival. Had I painted a picture of how you would have looked for me 10, even 5 years ago, it would have been Dean and I settled in Newfoundland so our children would grow up around extended family. Dean coming home from work to a house of our own that, while not exactly in the suburbs, had a decidedly suburban feel; me working part- rather than full-time so I could focus on our two or three kids, evenings of supper and homework, maybe dance classes or hockey games, outings to the park with the family, including the dog, or play-dates on the weekends.

Well, when Dean comes home, he is returning from a day of graduate studies in engineering at Rutger's University. And he is greeted by myself and Hunter S. Thompson the dog, we live in a wee rented apartment in New Jersey. Evenings are filled with homework alright, but its both Dean and I doing it - he working on probability or linear programing and me working on my first course towards my own masters degree in psychology. An occasional evening has been filled with a hockey game, but one of the NHL rather than the peewee league variety, and weekend outings may be to a movie, for a bike ride or, if it's a particularly exciting one, to NYC for some exploring or to see a live band. Dean hangs out with friends here, but I hesitate to call his time with them "play-dates".

Is it true that time seems to pass more quickly as we approach, and ultimately pass, you? I can't imagine it does, as I look back at any number of major events - graduation from Dalhousie with my occupational therapy degree, our wedding in Jamaica, our move to New Orleans - and they all seem like yesterday. Even the details of the times that are so very minor in the grand scheme of life; like the fact that I wore my black heels to eat at Dick and Jenny's and had to take them off at the North Mississippi Allstars show at the House of Blues later that evening because of sore toes (which happened during Jazzfest of 2005, a full 5 years ago); stand out with such clarity, it is hard to believe that I still don't have the dirty soles as evidence of my night of barefooted-ness.

I must confess that I have had quite a major change of perspective as of late, and I think that your proximity may have something to do with it. Do you often inspire change in people? The difference between "needs" and "wants", whose boundaries seem to be a little fuzzy to the young, have become abundantly clear for me. The "dream house" plan to be built on our land sometime in the future has been replaced with something more moderately sized, the trip to a fancy resort this summer has been replaced with a camping trip that we can bring our elderly dog along on. Don't get me wrong, your arrival hasn't taken away my love of nice things. But it has given me the desire to live well within our means, place the highest value on relationships and realize that things are simply that - things. That things in and of themselves can't bring you happiness or peace or fill a void. For the most part, I no longer worry what other people think. It's quite liberating.

Let me confess to you that I don't feel my age. When on campus, I feel more like the young student to the left of me than the middle-aged professor to the right. Yet I realize that, when the young student looks to her right, she likely sees two women who are very similar in age, and much older than her. Yikes! Do you ever feel your age, or do you always imagine yourself and your peers to belong to some younger generation? Some days I still feel like Dean and I are the young married couple in the room, even though we've been married close to 10 years and that title has long been passed to someone else.

My wish is that I can be one of those women that greet your arrival with grace, rather than one that is kicking, screaming, and hightailing it to the nearest plastic surgeon for a little botox treatment. (Though I must confess I have been using an anti-wrinkle night cream recently, and I have also been making sure I put on a good sunscreen and the aforementioned visor before spending any time in the sun, but don't take that personally). I hope I can take what I have learned by living life so far and use that knowledge to make you, although you're not quite what I initially imagined, some of the best years yet.

With hope that you'll be good to me,

Tanya

P.S. Any tips that you can share on preventing wrinkles, sagging of particularly vulnerable body parts and wobbly upper arms when waving will be much appreciated.

April 02, 2010

1. Am I asking for trouble by stating that I believe spring has arrived in New Jersey? I feel like I may be tempting mother nature into dumping another spattering of snow on us by making such a bold claim. Today was in the 60's, sunny and just the right amount of breeze. Flowers and trees are blooming, we can hear the birds outside our window everyday and Hunter S. Thompson has almost choked himself during our walks trying to go after squirrels three days in a row. Or it may be the same squirrel, playing mind games with the poor old pup. Who can tell one squirrel from another?

2. I went grocery shopping today, as we were out of everything. And I don't mean the normal stuff you run out of like bread, milk, produce, meat. We had no butter, mayo, maple syrup, coffee - the items that typically run out every few months all seemed to disappear this week. That always seems to happen in my sock basket too - I have so many socks I can literally go a month without doing laundry (not that I do, but I could). Then, suddenly, I can't find a pair of matching white socks to wear to the gym, thereby forcing me to resort to donning my Scooby-Doo Christmas socks. In March.

3. Speaking of the gym, I've been going regularly. Saying that I love it would be a gross overstatement. Can't even say that I like it, though some days I can get lost in the tunes on my ipod and the time flies. What I do love is that I walked about 100 blocks in NYC on Monday with a new friend who is a brisk walker, and kept up without too much trouble at all. My breathing is getting better.

4. I've also been swimming semi-regularly. I'm by no means a strong swimmer and sort of "freestyle" it (code for "I don't know how to properly swim one stroke"). Actually, I don't like to get my face wet, so I do the breast stroke with my arms, looking up the whole time with my neck extended like some sort of turtle. But even after showering and a generous lotion application afterward, I always smell like chlorine, even the next day. Any suggestions?

5. My very dear friend Nancy, who is pregnant with her 4th child, has an official due date - April 23rd. Because she is a scheduled C-section, odds are that this will indeed be the wee one's birthday. Nancy has not found out if she is having a girl or a boy (much to my distress, because it would be so much easier to purchase cute baby gifts in NYC if I knew what sex the baby is). I am excited, but a little sad that I wont be there. I remember her first labor, I waited at the hospital all night with her family until Jarod was finally born by C-section. I read "The Pilot's Wife". It seems like yesterday.

6. We had a lovely evening hanging out with Isaac, a classmate of Dean's, and his wife Meg last night. Meg is only in New Jersey until mid-April, then she heads back to work in Ontario. Dean and I have enjoyed our time hanging out with new friends - couple friends. You know, other couples that both spouses like equally. I find that it's hard to make good couple friends - usually one of the pair hits it off with another - perhaps they work together or are friends previously, and the remaining halves of each couple are sort of thrown together. We've been fortunate to have some good couple friends in our life, and have missed that since coming here.

7. The people living upstairs from us are so heavy on their feet that Dean and I have nicknamed them "the pachyderms". They watch their television with it's accompanying wall-shaking surround sound system, even at 8 am (typically war movies, we think, as there seems to be lots of shooting and helicopter sounds in them) and sometimes we hear then fight (usually about money). It makes it a little awkward when I see him smoking on the steps in the morning - do they know we can here them?

8. The sweet Suzanne did a number of blogs posts featuring the book "Shopping for Time". I enjoyed all the suggestions immensely, although I must admit that the "5 am" club has been what Dean would call an "epic fail" for me so far. One thing I have successfully adopted is taking 15 minutes each morning to plan and prioritize my day. I have always used a day planner (the two page per week variety) with weekly "to-do" lists, but sitting in the morning and writing the few most important things I want to accomplish that particular day is so helpful in keeping me on track. I even bought a wee little notebook for my list (to help me resist the temptation to block my day with so many tasks that it will be impossible to complete them all).

9. Looks like I will be heading home to Newfoundland in July and August to work with FIT, my former employer. My goal will be to block in as much work as I can in a 6 to 8 week period, and to save most of it for a possible project that may be in the works...but it is sort of crappy that summer will be filled with work.

10. Earlier this week, my mom asked me if I found it hard to fill my days now that I wasn't working. Honestly, I don't. There always seems to be things to get done. In fact, there are days I feel like I have less down time than when I was working. I'm sure that's not so. Instead, I think I'm more thoughtful about how I spend my days, which somehow makes me feel busier. I'm sure I'll be eating these words come July.

March 24, 2010

I am aware that it is now Wednesday, but at least I started this post on Tuesday, so that counts, right?

Dean discovered a t-short slogan that cracks us up now, but made me a little nervous before we settled in here: "Welcome to New Jersey - don't worry, we hate you too". Other than assumed feelings of mutual hatred, my only knowledge (and I use the term loosely) of the state came from friends who watch the television show "Jersey Shore" (lots of big hair, curse words and bar fights) and what Bruce Springsteen sings about (lots of economically depressed, run down factory towns).

Well, yesterday marks 10 weeks since our arrival. We've seen our share of those factory towns, mostly on our road trips to the mountains to snowboard. During those legs of the journey, we've sometimes put Bruce on the ipod and sang along as the crumbling concrete buildings and parking lots now overgrown with weeds pass by the truck windows. Bruce, we get it now.

We've seen our share of big hair too, though no bar fights (possibly because we haven't been hanging out in bars). We're made one trip to "the shore" to pick up a bicycle Dean purchased on Craig's List, and it was rather fancy - the seller was renting the farmhouse on a huge estate that was on the market for 17 million. Jon Bon Jovi lived 4 houses down. I do believe it was the swankiest property I have ever been standing on.

Hard to believe that our arrival was 10 weeks ago. As always, the passage of time is a funny thing. At times it seems like forever since we pulled up to our new apartment to get the keys. Other times, it feels like yesterday. Looking back, I know that we've packed a lot into our first 10 weeks here and, I'm happy to report, we haven't been hated or hating on anyone either.

The three of us (myself, Dean and Hunter S Thompson the dog) set out in the truck with an air mattress, a television and some clothes to tide us over until the movers arrived with our things. We had a sunny drive across most of Newfoundland but hit bad weather about an hour before arriving to board the ferry. We had a cabin for the boat's night crossing and no doubt the bed was well worth the money, even though I still felt sick. More weather the next day, though we had driven out of it by the time we hit Fredericton, New Brunswick, where we stopped to get this:

A GPS, which allowed the person with the most hopeless sense of direction on the planet (me) to drive while the one who can navigate without a map by sense alone (Dean) napped, without us getting lost in the Hamptons (which happened the last time Dean feel asleep while I was at the wheel during a long drive). Best. Purchase. Ever.

We spent our second night on the road at a motel in Woodstock, New Brunswick, where we passed our evening playing rock band on the PS3 (best item packed in the truck). The next night we stayed in Connecticut, which meant we only had a couple of hours to go before arriving in New Jersey the following day.

And for the "ten" portion of this post, here's ten things we've been up to since becoming, umm, New Jersians? New Jersites? Well, residents of New Jersey.

1.Settling into our apartment

Our apartment complex is one we initially crossed off our list, because we thought it too far away from campus (not sure how we thought that, as it only takes Dean 30 minutes to ride his bicycle from home to school). We ended up here mostly because we couldn't find another spot that would allow large dogs. Glad we did, as the staff are friendly, the buildings are more "townhouse" style so they feel a bit more private, and the grounds are really pretty. Plus, it has an outdoor pool that will open in the summer.

And there's a river running on the back of the property, which you get a lovely view of when letting your dog play in the fenced, off-leash area set up for resident dogs.

2. Snowboarding

Well, I've been learning and Dean has been becoming very good. We initially went to Mountain Creek, a hill about 1 1/2 hours from us, and stayed a couple of nights. We were looking to escape the empty apartment when we were still waiting for our stuff (and sleeping on the wake-up-on-the-floor air mattress), and that seemed like a good choice. There is a second hill, Blue Mountain, which is a similar distance from us, and we were going weekly for a while there. Plus, we took a second two night trip in February/March, when we had visitors.

This was the view from our room the first time we went away. It was really pretty. I was really sore, by day two I could barely get out of bed. My skills have improved some since that first trip, and I hope that next season I'll be in much better shape physically and will finally be able to keep up with Dean on some "big girl runs" (as opposed to baby hill runs). Limited photos of any actual boarding, as I fall so much I'd never bring my camera, lest it be crushed.

3. Meeting Nira and Wietse in NYC

Dean's former boss and his wife also drove from Newfoundland, though it was a couple of weeks after us and their final destination was Houston. They did make an overnight stop near us, and we spent a lovely day in New York City, which is an hour train ride from us. We met them at their hotel then headed into the city, ate lunch at a little pub, saw "Momma Mia" on Broadway, walked across both the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges and ate supper at a lovely little restaurant overlooking the skating rink at Rockefeller Center. They were our first visitors in our new home.

4. Attending rock shows

We're been into NYC to see two different bands. We saw the first band, the John Butler Trio, at the Bowery Ballroom, which was a great venue to see a show. Dean and I had seen them live once before, in New Orleans, and really enjoyed them this second time around.

We also saw Muse, a relatively new band to us that my step-sister introduced us to, at Madison Square Garden. A totally different venue than the Bowery Ballroom, but still a wonderful spot to see a show. Muse was really good live, and the show was one of the most visually impressive ones that I;ve seen in a long time.

5. Being true Canadians (watching hockey games)

I've been to one hockey game, the Toronto Maple Leafs vs. the New Jersey Devils, at the Prudential Center.

We went with two other guys in Dean's program at school, Ken and Isaac. Here's Dean enjoying himself.

Dean has since been to a second game, the Montreal Canadians vs the New York Rangers at Madison Square Gardens. Honestly, as sports go, I'm much more of a football girl. But any sport is so much more fun when you are watching it live. Plus, there were good snacks.

6. Traveling to New Orleans

Yes, when the New Orleans Saints got into the Superbowl , my first thought was "we must be there". However, new "student budget and student's unemployed wife" restrictions meant we could just not afford to drop all that cash to head to Miami. So we did the next best thing- headed to New Orleans to join in the party. Of course, that meant visits to good friends and meals at favorite restaurants. Coincidentally, it was Mardi Gras season, so we also got to see a couple of parades.

We spent Superbowl Sunday in the French Quarter, with about a billion other Saints fans. We got our faces painted, and settled in to watch the game at a bar.

And when we won, Bourbon Street, and the whole city, erupted in celebration. Pure madness. So glad we were there to be a part of it all.

7. Entertaining visitors

In late February, my step-sisters, Heather and Chelsea, and Chel's roommate Stacy came to visit us. The day of their arrival, New Jersey was hit by a major snowstorm. We ended up having to scramble to change their flights; we had them land in Philadelphia and picked them up on the way to Atlantic City, where we traveled to see the Dropkick Murphys (an Irish punk band they love). We spent the next day in NYC, despite the snow that had fallen. Our apartment all covered in the white stuff.

The girls and Dean in Times Square, where we first emerged from the subway. They were amazed, I loved the looks on their faces as they gazed around their surroundings when we were first above ground.

Here's Chelsea at the Hard Rock Cafe Times Square, where we had our major meal of the day.

The girls in Central Park later that evening, which was really pretty with all the snow that had fallen.

Heather, who is a great artist herself, admiring Monet at the Museum of Modern Art, which was one place in the city she really wanted to see.

We also rode the Staten Island ferry to see the Statue of Liberty, so pretty all lit up at night, before heading home. The next morning, we headed to Mountain Creek for two days of snowboarding and skiing. Here "we" are, from l - r: me, Dean, Heather, Chelsea and Stacy.

Loved spending some time with the girls, and managed to pack a lot into just a few days.

8. Entertaining another visitor

Last week, my dear friend Nikki came and spent 3 nights with us. Of course, we headed into NYC, this time for two days, and spent a lot of time just wandering around Times Square, Madison Ave and Central Park. We visited FAO Schwartz and Dylan's Candy Bar to get treats for Nikki to bring home to her three kids, had a few leisurely meals that grew into marathon chat sessions, and went and saw "Wicked" on Broadway. Loved having her here and most enjoyed our time just chatting away.

9. Establishing routines

No doubt, we knew that transitioning from a chemical engineer in the workforce to a full-time student in a Masters program in college would be difficult, but Dean has done great establishing a new routine as a student. Lots of studying going on here.

What I found a bit surprising was how hard it has been for me to transition from an occupational therapist in the workforce to an unemployed student's wife who, because of a combination of difficulty with occupational therapist certification in the state and immigration laws, is having an awful time becoming legally employable. Still, I feel like I've established routines of my own, which include keeping house and doing laundry, Target runs, daily walks with Hunter S. Thompson, taking a yoga class, a commitment to regular time at the gym and better eating habits.

10. Working towards a better life outlook

Honestly, the last couple of years in Newfoundland have been difficult for me. Other than the stress of a major renovation and job demands, especially for Dean in his position at home, there was the overwhelming feelings that came along with infertility and the miscarriage. We left a life we loved in New Orleans and returned home, at least in part, to start a family. When that didn't come to pass as we had hoped, it was disappointing.

I think it's only when we moved to somewhere new that I could look back and realize how difficult that period was. And for me, much of the last 10 weeks has been about moving forward from that, with new goals, new plans and an improved outlook on the future.

March 23, 2010

Came across this photo from the holidays while searching through my pictures, made me think of a similar one that mindi posted a while back. Now back to organizing all my million pictures so I can write a real post about life in New Jersey.

March 15, 2010

Right from the beginning, Dean and I both agreed that we had to make the basement of 227 Hamilton into truly livable space. The back of the house is not underground thanks to the sloped lot, so the back and side of the house get plenty of light, decreasing the cave like feel that plague some basement spaces.

Because we only had two bedrooms on the top floor, we decided a comfortable third bedroom was a must for the house. Laundry facilities, a desk area for Dean, a craft area for me and storage were on the top of the list also. Finally, we decided a second bathroom in the house was a must.

When we moved in, there was linoleum on the basement floor, the walls were made of a thick, cardboard like material covered with layers of wallpaper, and the place most certainly had a musty, earthy smell and damp feel. If you descended the basement stairs, there was a door right in front of you. Walk through, and you were in a bright green room with a laundry tub. Go through the green room, and you got to a long, narrow area with cement walls that was used as a little workshop. This was located in the front of the house. If you hung a left off the stairs, there was a hallway and a door to your right, which lead to a cream colored room. Follow the hall and it led you to a door, through a 10 X 10 porch/storage area and out into the back yard.

More "before" photos, compliments of the MLS real estate system once again. These really make me shake my head at our ambition. First, down the basement stairs. Ahh, the lack of storage in the kitchen is confirmed - note the pots and pans stored on that shelf.

Next, what we called the green room, for obvious reasons.

Now, the little workshop, tucked away in the front of the house.

And the cream colored room, which had a lovely large window and lots of light for a basement.

Finally, the basement hallway. From this view, you are standing at the back door looking towards the front of the house.

Of course, we got right down to the demolition and boy, did we have a lot of garbage to haul out of the basement area when we were through. Here's me standing at the top of the stairs, looking down to below. Abby is at the bottom, waiting to go outside. I'd have to bring her through the basement to let her out into the back yard for her last pee of the night, and when the basement was all demolished and dark, it was a creepy place.

Looking down the hallway towards the back door, sometime during the demolition process.

A peek into the green room. Well, the whole basement was pretty green, but this room was an additional testament to how much the color must have been loved in this home.

And here's what the cream room looked like, once we started tearing everything out of it. Yeap, there's that same chimney, which runs straight up the middle of all three floors of the house. At one point it looked like they painted a portion of the chimney green also, perhaps as some sort of accent. See the cute little door, used to clean out chimney ashes.

I will say that the basement ended up being the biggest challenge for us in many ways. First off, a concrete floor was visible in the small workshop in the front of the house, and this led us to believe the whole basement floor was concrete. But to investigate the damp, earthy smell, we took up a floorboard and, you guessed it, discovered the whole basement floor was wood placed on dirt. So we hauled every last piece of, well, everything in the basement out, until there were literally four walls, a pile of dirt and a chimney running up the middle.

I took lots of pictures of us digging and removing dirt (to lower the floor and therefore gain more head room); spreading the tonnes of crushed stone a truck dumped through our window in a huge pile in preparation for concrete; the all nighter Dean, my step-father Keith and I spent getting all prepared before the concrete truck arrived the next day; and my dad, Keith and Dean spreading the concrete dumped through the window on this home made chute that was rigged up at the last minute. I think I even took photos of Dean on our busy street directing traffic so the concrete truck could pull into the awkward space (wearing a hard hat he used in the shop at work so he'd look "official"). However, all those are gone now. I thought I smartly saved them on an external hard drive for safe keeping, and the hard drive broke. Alas, I'm not spending the gazillion dollars necessary to retrieve them, but I'll always have the memories.

I think that the hardest thing about the basement was designing it, deciding where walls and doors and bathroom fixtures would go, carefully measuring it all out on graph paper and then crossing fingers that everything would fit when the walls went up. It's hard to take a wide open space and envision how everything will look, how the space will feel when it jumps from the paper and you're actually walking through it, if the queen sized bed will look too big or too small, if that 6 inches will make you feel squished behind the door when brushing your teeth. Ultimately, I was pleased with how it all turned out. I think it really did feel like livable space, well incorporated into the rest of the house, not an isolated basement.

The hands down most frightening moment of the whole renovation also happened in the basement. When we were digging out the dirt floor, I unearthed a skull. It ended up being that of a small animal, likely a cat, but when I initially brushed the dirt off it and saw two eye sockets, my first though was that I had found the skull of a baby. Too much CSI, I guess.

Here's the finished space. First, looking down those same basement stairs, which were restored and carpeted. We actually pushed back where the door to the green room once was, and made that portion of the hall longer.

Standing in the hall, looking towards the back door. The door to the right leads to the guest room and a small office space, and the door at the end of the hall is to the porch.

Here's the view from the opposite side of the hall. To the left is the same guest bedroom door, then the bathroom door, and the closet style door at the end of the hall is now the laundry room

This is the guest bedroom, formerly the cream colored room. It was large enough for a bed, some storage and a craft desk for me.

Off the guest bedroom is a little nook that Dean and I used for open storage shelving, mostly for craft supplies, and a small office area for him. This nook was once part of the green room. We designed the space this way so that the room could be more multipurpose: it could be a guest room with an office nook as we had it, a small downstairs rec room with an office nook, or even a bedroom with large walk-in closet (with the bathroom also in the basement, it would make a perfect teenager or roommate suite). I loved the soothing blue tones. Alas, I don't think we had an official guest stay before we moved. Darn it.

And here's our wee little bathroom. No tub, but a rather functional stand-up shower, pedestal sink and toilet. This space was also part of the green room at one time.

Here's the window in the hallway directly outside the bathroom. We actually replaced all the windows in the basement. Cute little display ledge on this one, because we had to build out from the concrete walls to insulate before we put up drywall.

Finally, the laundry room. Truly, not much was done in here. I painted the concrete walls and the backside of the framed wood and drywall from the other rooms a bright white, hung a curtain to hide the hot water heater and installed shelving, but those few things really made a difference.

Well, that concludes the review of the two + year long renovation of 227 Hamilton Avenue, or what I've been talking about (dare I say sometimes whining about) all this time. We started out with a couple of goals - use every square inch of this small house for a purpose and retain some original character, and I think we achieved both.

I have no idea what made us leap into such a major project. By nature, I'm a little more cautious, but Dean has no fear when it comes to such matters. He's always been handy and knew his way around power tools, and I've always been arts and crafts/design oriented. Mostly, I think that we weren't afraid to try to figure things out - ask others, read books, watch HGTV. Would we do it again? Though both of us would have answered with a resounding "no" the day we left the house behind, I'm no longer sure that I wouldn't. I haven't discussed such matters with Dean, as we are in no position to do something like this right now. I do know that, if we ever did it again, we'd be much smarter about the process. We learned so much through this all.

We'd never have been able to get this done without the help of others, mostly family and a couple of friends. But many times, especially towards the end when the novelty of The Moaklers construction project wore off, it was just he and I, plugging along. I'm really proud of us and what we accomplished. I ended up loving the house and would have stayed if the move to New Jersey hadn't been necessary. But then, if we hadn't moved, would we have put the push on to finish, or would the bibs and bobs of leftover detail work continued on? I'd like to think not, but that may be assuming too much of my procrastinating nature.

The house was put on the market on Christmas Eve, which is no doubt a terrible time to be listing a house. Nevertheless, I used the same staging advice as I did when we sold our home in New Orleans a few years prior, and put out the fresh flowers and candles, simmered orange slices and cinnamon on the stove 30 minutes before any arrivals and put on soft, soothing music of the season in the background. Our efforts paid off, and within the week we had 4 separate offers on the house, all above asking price.

I can't tell you how very gratifying that was, especially since there were so many friends and family members who questioned our decision and our ability to complete a project of this magnitude throughout the process. Lots of negativity wondering why we'd do such a thing right from the beginning. The successful sale that had us walking away with our financial goals for the project exceeded and the positive feedback we got on the home itself was so satisfying.

As I said before, I don't miss the work or the chaos, but I do miss the house and am sad that we didn't get much time to enjoy it to it's fullest before we moved on. But one never knows what is on the horizon for us. Meanwhile, I wish the young couple who bought 227 Hamilton Avenue (their very first home purchase) lots of happiness behind it's doors.

March 14, 2010

Oh, 227 Hamilton's main floor, just a wee spot with only a small living area and an eat-in kitchen. Not exactly a haven large enough for entertaining, but we made it more so by literally taking out every wall on the floor, making it totally open concept. Which ended up requiring a few way overpriced visits from a structural engineer as per our city inspector's instructions, and a couple of large steel beams and jack-posts to ensure the house would remain standing without the aid of interior walls. Ahem. Well, anyway, we knew that, right?

The view from the front door, which was one of the original photos posted when the house was first listed for sale. The door to the living room is to the right and the door seen down the hall is to the kitchen. The kitchen and living room were completely closed off from one another. I didn't see the house like this, by the time I made it to Newfoundland from New Orleans, Dean had gotten out the sledgehammer and things looked quite....different.

And this is the hall now, standing in just about the same spot, with your back to the front door after first entering the house. Excuse the slant of the photo that makes it look like the house must be rocking like a ship at sea. It's not. However, my poor "holding a camera straight" skills are showing. The window at the end of the hall was turned into a door.

Here's the living room when we bought the place, although the furniture had been removed when we took possession. More real estate photos from the original house listing on the MLS system.

Keep in mind that these are the pictures that resulted in us saying to ourselves "What great potential this house has. We must buy it". Although it ended up working out, I suspect I must have been watching too much HGTV to even get the idea we could tackle such a thing.

The living room fireplace. The original red brick was covered by press board, and the new brick surround was an odd yellowy-brown. An elderly couple had lived in the home most of their lives, and had both passed away within the last couple of years. We bought the house from their adult children, who had grown up there. In fact, in the home's 110 year old history, we had only been the third family to own it.

Standing in the living room, looking towards the front door after Dean and his buddy Mr. Sledgehammer were together a couple of weeks. Oh, and don't forget Mr. Reciprocating Saw, he was also quite helpful in taking the walls down.

In the living room, looking towards the kitchen. The beginning of the our open concept vision taking shape. Good-bye yellowy-brown brick, hello original red brick. Feeling brighter and more spacious already. Also, very dusty.

Progress, as we get the rest of the walls removed and the drywall goes up. Dean put up most of the big sheets, and I actually cut and put up the smaller pieces.

Standing in the living room looking towards the kitchen, some paint on the drywall, but the fireplace brick hadn't been cleaned up and restored at that point. This was during the prime and paint the crown and baseboard marathon, which lasted the better part of a week, as I recall.

Same stage, but looking to the left of the chimney, towards the stairs. I think this is when it finally felt like we were actually moving towards something, rather than demolishing something.

Cooking with gas now, we actually have finished walls and floors. It was Dean's idea to hang the television on the chimney, which gave us room to have twice the seating we could have originally had in the living room. Good call buddy. Because the fireplace could not be used, we ran the television wires down inside it and put the cable box and other components where a fire would be. When I covered the opening with a fireplace screen later on, you could barely see them. Notice my slipper clad feet in this photo, looks like I was relaxing.

And finally, all finished. Here's the view you'd see when you first walked through the front door and looked to your right.

Here's the view looking from the hall, with your back to the kitchen. A small room, but we manged to pack lots of seating in there. Cozy.

Standing in the bay window, looking towards the kitchen. Even managed to squeeze a Christmas tree in there. Wanted to decorate the railing with boughs and lights, but once again, ran out of steam by this point.

And here's the kitchen when we purchased the house, photos compliments once again of the MLS real estate listings.

These were the only cupboards in the entire kitchen, and the wee little sink. I fear that this wouldn't have held all my gadgets. I'm not sure if that's an indication that the kitchen lacked storage, or if I have too many kitchen tools.

Demolition on it's way, always the most fun at first. There was a bunch of really neat sewing patterns from the 50's stuck on the walls when we took off the wallpaper, but it was covered with drywall before I had the chance to take any pictures.

Lots of holes in the chimney, some filled in with beach rocks, likely to vent the various old wood stoves that would have been the only source of heat when the house was built.

Dean, Keith and Liam working on the installation of the cupboards, which we bought at a salvage yard and finished on our own.

Layout of the kitchen almost complete, with most of the cupboards laid out, sub-floor put down and appliances in place.

Cupboards finally finished, plus granite tile counters and tumbled marble back splash installed (Dean and I became quite a tile laying team throughout this process). And limelight hydrangeas from my mom's garden.

Remember I had mentioned that Dean had taken out that window at the end of the hall to install a door? Well, here's when it ceased being a window but before it was a door. It was just a giant hole in the house at this point.

And the view of the finished kitchen when standing at the new back door. Much more cupboard space than the original kitchen.

View when standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking towards the back door. Love all the light that this room gets first thing in the morning. So bright!

Standing at the sink, which overlooks the front door. Because of the location of the chimney, it was difficult to make the main floor truly open concept, but at least it didn't feel so isolated from the living room when cooking or doing dishes in the kitchen when we were done.

My Nanny Mullett gave me a bunch of vintage glass ornaments last year that she decorated with in the 60's and 70's, which I displayed in a hurricane glass this Christmas. Love them.

My favorite feature of the kitchen is the exposed brick of the chimney, which we put shelving on to display some wine and martini glasses. Love the old red brick contrasted against the shiny black granite and the maple cupboards.

It's details like this that make the house unique and true to it's 110 year old age and history. Love the blend of the old and new.

This floor was quite a challenge, we literally designed the kitchen layout ourselves. Designing kitchens is harder than it looks, no doubt.

That concludes the tour of the main floor. Next time, I'll bring you through the changes to the basement, which went from wood covering a dirt floor and thick cardboard walls to actual living space.